


Scissors

by vegxslights



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV), The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friendship/Love, Haircuts, M/M, Platonic Relationships, howince, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegxslights/pseuds/vegxslights
Summary: In which it is the early hours of Sunday and Howard Moon finds himself in the hands of his flatmate.Also known as: that one time he let Vince cut his hair.





	Scissors

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this to @clockworkgoth who is my favourite person.

Tongue meets teeth, hands meet hair. It’s the early hours of Sunday and Howard Moon finds himself in the hands of Vince Noir. The tangerine glare of a rising sun is filtering through the clouded bathroom window, highlighting the parts of Vince’s face that Howard never gets to see this close. Striking cheekbones and a prominent nose are softened by soft orange hues and hollow cheeks and sunken eyes lay hidden behind auburn shadows. Where the blinds part has a single stripe of blaring orange parting the youngers face in half, across the bridge of his nose and dividing his open mouth, slack in concentration. There’s droplets of saliva set to roll from Vinces tongue, held loose between his teeth.

 

Howard thought haircuts could never be this intimate.

 

It’s gentle, the way Vince combs his hair through the elders finer locks. He takes into consideration the age gap, knows to treat Howards hair with softer hands and a gentler touch, bares in mind the slightly receding hairline and the area around the ears where brown smoke dissipates to grey. Each curl is wound around Vinces finger, never quite perfect but always just-there, and he knows to take his time, and snip with pace. Vince may pull off the asymmetrical rugged look, but he’s certain Howard would flip his lid if he emerged from the nights activities with a Joan-Jett mullet. 

 

The soft hum of the radio provides background noise for the inconstant snips and occasional hums from the duo. It’s The Platters, Smoke Gets In Your Eyes, and Vince - despite his claim for allergy of the genre - sways calmly along and sings quietly as his hands glide across Howards temples.

 

_ Should he give him a fringe? Bangs? Side-sweep? _

 

Surely not, Howard would sure have his throat, but there’s amusement in the thought. One side of Vince’s mouth quirks up into a lazy grin, and he huffs a laugh through his nose.

 

“What’s so funny?” 

 

A sleepy lilt tints the elder’s tone. Unusual is it for him to be awake past eleven, the man likes his order, but occasionally the thought will get too much, his brain will rattle and spout endless rambles and reasons for Howard’s ‘insignificance’. And it’s on those nights, where he trudges to the living room, plops himself on his end of the sofa, and lets Vince drape his legs across his lap as they treat themselves to a night of Peacock Dreams reruns.

 

“Thinkin’ ‘bout givin’ you a fringe. What d’ya think ‘Oward? Blunt cut? Some feathered bangs?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be lovely. While you’re at it, you might as well perm my hair and dye it blond.” There’s love in the way Howard rolls his eyes, and lets his gaze fall on Vince, whose hands still remain ghosting over the ridges of Howard’s face, the pads of his thumb grazing back and forth between where his hairline starts and eyebrows end.

 

“ _Actually_...that’s not a bad idea.”

 

Vince considers it.   
  


“Just get on with it, Vince!”

 

Howard shrugs him off with a soft laugh, and gentle nudge with his knee.

 

Vince could not tell you how long they’d been there. He could have been cutting Howards hair for hours, maybe even days. Time seems just to cease when the two are together like this. The flat has stood with their belongings inside for almost five years, the zoo long departed, the keepers hut now homing birds nests and mouse families. But Vince could still believe they’d rehoused last week. 

 

Vince and Howard remain unphased by the passage of time, as long as they’re together.

 

It’s not much longer now, Vince judges, because he’s finally seeing the shape to Howard’s hair, the more refined curls and brightened edges coming through that once hid beneath greying split ends. The sun is coming up, Vince can see the apricot halo that forms around Howards head that blocks Vinces view of the window. 

 

But not yet, not yet can they part like this. 

 

So Vince sweeps hair from Howard’s shoulders, brushes hands down the taller’s bare back and over his broad chest. He tidies in silence, the soft hum of the jazz station still filling the air as Howard smooths the creases in his pyjama bottoms. There’s a few more snips here and there, Vinces hands work slower than usual as he cleans up edges and perfects curls, and fives a few lasting cuts to the hairs on the back of Howard’s neck. Anything to fill the time.

 

But it’s fleeting, Vince’s hands grasp the dustpan and brush as he rids the floor of evidence of the nights events. No one deserves to share their intimacies. It is Vince’s, and it is Howard’s and it is no one elses to know.

 

Eyes meet, mocha and soft cyan, booth clouded with sleep and compassion, and Howard stands on numbing feet.

 

“Off to bed now?” Vince asks, disappointment dripping from his tongue.

 

“Yes, I am.” Howard nods, and feels his freshly cut hair with his hands.

 

He then takes Vinces palms in his own, and brings him closer.

 

“Thank you, Vince, very much.”

 

A gentle kiss is lain between Vince’s eyebrows, and his eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

 

“You’re welcome, ‘Oward.”

 

“Goodnight, little man.”   
  
“Night ‘Oward.”

 

And Vince is left there, numb, and buzzing.


End file.
